The Angel Wore Fangs(86)

“Never mind that. Are you sorry for your sins? Do you promise to sin no more?”

“Bloody hell, no!” An expression came over Reynilda’s face that was no longer a pretense of innocence. It was pure evil. But then her attention was diverted to something behind Cnut, and the expression changed to one of terror.

Cnut could tell by the scent of sulfur, even before he turned, that it was Zeb, and he was in full demonoid form. Swatting Cnut aside, Zeb launched himself at Reynilda, who’d backed up against the bed. “Hello sinner,” he said, and bit her neck with fangs the size of pitchfork tines. Within seconds, Reynilda was dissolving until all that was left was a pile of pink fabric and a silver arm ring.

“Did you have to do that?” Cnut asked.

“I did.” Swiping the back of his scaly hand across his mouth, he burped and said, “Tastes like lemon meringue pie. Yum.” At Cnut’s glare, he added, “She was never going to change, my friend.”

Just then Cnut thought of something more important, and he turned toward the door. “Andrea!”

“She’s already gone.”

Cnut turned slowly, his hands fisted. He would kill the demon bastard, with his bare hands, if need be. “If you hurt her . . .”

“Oh please! She is fine. Already back in her Philadelphia apartment.”

A wave of relief, and utter grief, overcame Cnut. He would never see Andrea again, he just knew it. And his premonition came true when Zeb grabbed him in a tight bear hug—or you could say, a Lucipire hug—catching him off guard, and they began a swirling ascent up up up through space, spinning and spinning until Cnut was so dizzy he could only hold on. Zeb was a more powerful Lucipire than Cnut had thought, and he’d known him to be strong before. No way could Cnut fight him off!

Cnut prayed, “Please, God, take me now. Or save me. Michael, intercede on my behalf.”

Zeb laughed when there was no celestial response.

So Cnut was on his way to Horror and an eternity of torture, or a new life as a Lucipire, if he proved to be weak. Each equally horrifying.

But Cnut was wrong. Boy, was he wrong!

Home, Sweet Home . . .

Forget the Polar Nights. When Andrea came to her senses, there was bright sunlight. And she was lying on the sofa in her Philadelphia apartment.

Her first thought was that it must have all been a dream, which should have made her happy. None of those horrific things had happened. But oddly that prospect filled her with sadness because that would mean Cnut was not her lifemate. In fact, everything that had happened to them was a fantasy.

But then she put her hand to her throat and felt the amber necklace lying there, a warm reminder of Cnut’s love. Tears of relief filled her eyes as she glanced downward. Yep, she was still wearing the emerald-green gown.

None of it made any sense. Maybe she was losing her mind.

Think, Andrea, think. Backtrack a bit.

She had been sitting in Cnut’s great hall talking to a demon vampire named Zeb—and wasn’t that a sure sign of loose screws in the brain, that she would even accept that there were such things. Cnut had gone off with Reynilda because she had whipped cream on her gown (even now, she had to smile), and Zeb had asked her if she wanted to go home. She didn’t recall saying yes or no, but before she knew it, she was slingshotting through space and time until she landed here.

But where was Cnut? Still back at Hoggstead (Nobody could make up a name like that!) in the year 850? Or . . . oh my God! Had Zeb captured Cnut and taken him to that northern (way northern!) castle of horrors for an eternity of torture?

Cnut was in dire danger.

She had to do something to help him.

But what? Should she go to the police? Oh, that would be fun! She could imagine the conversation now. “You see, Officer, I was sitting at the banquet in an 850 Norse castle. Yes, a castle, a wood castle, but a castle nonetheless. Anyhow, this demon vampire captured my Viking, and I think . . .”

It all sounded bizarre and unbelievable.

So no police.

First things first. She had to find out what day it was. Sitting up, she grabbed the TV remote, turned it on, and saw by the date/timeline on the right bottom corner of the screen that it was Friday, July 22, one p.m. So only a week had passed since she’d been here last. How was that possible? So much had happened—the trip to the Montana ranch, the teletransport back to the past, the weeks at Hoggstead, the famine, the hunting, the yule celebrations, making love with Cnut, so many things—and only five days had passed by here in present times?

Just then, she noticed a news bulletin coming on the TV screen. The channel had last been on CNN; so a grim-faced Wolf Blitzer was detailing the latest atrocities by ISIS. A massacre taking out an entire village in Pakistan, the beheading of three American journalists in the capital of Nigeria, and a suicide bombing at a Florida mall, resulting in five dead and forty wounded shoppers. All this, despite the good news that had been announced three days ago by the FBI, which had broken up a massive ISIS recruiting ring on a ranch in Montana.